


Tremble

by earthtoalley



Series: 30 Days of Writing [5]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 21:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthtoalley/pseuds/earthtoalley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He had dreamt of Abigail Hobbs again that night. He had clutched her close to his chest and whispered sweet nothings into her ear, the point of a blade pressed to her throat. He had smelt her fear. Heard the panic in her voice. And he had revelled in it."</p>
<p>Drabble for the 30 Days of Writing meme. Prompt 5: Tremble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tremble

Will frowned as he surveyed the scene before him. A thin fog had settled across the horizon, drifting almost lazily through the treetops and obscuring his view of the distance beyond his secluded house. It was early, Will knew that much, but the longer he stared at the fog, the more he began to question if it was even real. It was only the chill that settled against his skin and made him shiver that made his mind up for him.

He had dreamt of Abigail Hobbs again that night. He had clutched her close to his chest and whispered sweet nothings into her ear, the point of a blade pressed to her throat. He had smelt her fear. Heard the panic in her voice. And he had revelled in it. He had revelled in the blood that seeped from her tattered throat as he ran his knife across her soft flesh. He had lapped up her blood, the bitter, salty taste dancing across his tongue. And when he looked up, Abigail’s blood still dribbling down his chin, he had seen it. The thing that was always present in his dreams. His nightmares. His _hallucinations_.

The stag.

And he was certain it meant something, but he could never quite put his finger on it. Or perhaps it wasn’t that he couldn’t, more that he didn’t want to.

He spent his day drifting. The stag stalked him, as always. He saw Garrett Jacob Hobbs taunting him when he closed his eyes, the taste of blood still heavy on his lips. He drifted from place to place without any memory of what happened in between, something that had become commonplace for him now. He never got used to it, and each time he awoke unaware of how and when he arrived somewhere, it would fill him with anxiety. And with each new location, drifting past effortlessly like some kind of slick movie transition, his anxiety only grew.

And then, before he knew it, before he had _really_ had time to process and think about it, he was sat in the office of one Hannibal Lecter. And of course, in Hannibal’s presence, the stag was gone. Because Hannibal was the one constant in his life, and the nightmares couldn’t follow him there. Couldn’t attach themselves to the one stable thing in his hectic and unstable life. Will gravitated towards him, for reasons unbeknownst to him.

He looked at the man in his pressed suit, avoiding his eyes at all costs as he puzzled over it. And when he came up blank, as ever, he sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He wasn’t sure how long he had been sat in the office, or if Hannibal was waiting for some kind of answer from him, but it unsettled him.

Will got to his feet, a sudden restless urge washing over him as he tried not to drown under the mounting anxiety. He felt Hannibal’s eyes follow him as he made his way around the room nervously. His attempts to quell the anxiety had failed miserably, and he felt it build up in him further because how long had he been sat in that chair? _How long_ had he been in Hannibal’s office? How long had Hannibal been _watching_ him? He felt the tremors start to wrack through him as he studied the calm expression on Hannibal’s face.

“Let it go, Will,” he heard Hannibal’s calm voice cut through the ringing in his ears. It cut through it like a knife, slicing into the emotions building up in him like he had sliced through Abigail Hobbs’ neck in his nightmare.

“I don’t know how I got here,” he rushed out, the panic evident in his voice. “I was at home _five minutes ago_ , and now I’m _here_.”

And the stag was there, too. Garrett Jacob Hobbs sat in the seat he had formerly occupied, watching him with cold, dead eyes and Will felt the blood on his hands. He could taste it on his tongue. The ringing – the deafening discordant cacophony flooding through his head – got louder, more intrusive. All of it tore at him. At his sanity.

“You have lost time again.” Hannibal said simply. It was an observation, not a question, and it did little to calm Will’s anxieties. Was it so evident now that people could tell when he wasn’t there? “Let it go, Will. Breathe deeply. To clear your mind requires practice. It is a skill that you must learn.”

Will nodded, taking a long, slow breath. He knew it would be in vain, however. He had sat in countless therapists’ chairs and each had repeated the same mantra; in, out, clear your mind, let it go. Why should Hannibal’s delivery of the same mantra garner a different response? Will clamped his eyes shut, trying to focus on what he knew was real as he heard Hannibal get to his feet.

He focused on the forts he had constructed in his mind to keep people out. The walls he built to keep them away. But when he thought of the fort he had constructed for Hannibal, it was… different. There were doors. Windows. The man could come and go as he pleased, and Will powerless to stop it because some sick part of him _needed_ Hannibal. He needed the security of him. He needed the consistency and the stability he provided.

And it was the thought of Hannibal that helped him push back against the hallucinations. Helped him get some kind of handle on his sanity, until he had calmed the anxiety enough to stop the tremors. Enough to even out his erratic breathing.

“Open your eyes, Will.”

Hannibal’s cool and composed voice was enough to anchor Will and pull him from the last of his anxiety and his hallucinations. All that mattered was here and now; not Garrett Jacob Hobbs, not Abigail’s blood on his lips. All that mattered was Hannibal’s office. All that mattered was where he was and _who_ he was, though he was starting to lose track of that, too.

He tensed as he opened his eyes. Hannibal had intruded in his personal space so intimately, his face mere inches from Will’s own. Will flattened himself back against the wall, his gaze darting to Hannibal’s thin lips in some vague attempt to avoid eye contact with him, which they both knew was impossible due to their proximity. The trembling had stopped but he bristled at the closeness between them.

Yet, some part of him wanted Hannibal to close the distance between them. He _yearned_ for it, and it made him ache. And he was tempted – God, was he tempted – to close the distance between them himself, but the idea alone made him feel nauseous because he was Will Graham; the man that pushed people away, not the man that welcomed them in.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed between that moment and the moment he dashed forward unexpectedly, his lips making contact with Hannibal’s. He wasn’t sure if he had lost time, or if it had simply slowed as he finally allowed the other man past his carefully constructed barriers.

And the uncertainty and instability made him… tremble.


End file.
